


Bittersweet

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 08:06:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10895199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: Tatsuya frowns at the pan of curry simmering on the stove.





	Bittersweet

**Author's Note:**

> prompt (thank u val!) was kagahimu + things I wish our mothers taught us

Tatsuya frowns at the pan of curry simmering on the stove. It looks and smells good, but not quite right, not the way he wants it, not exactly the way he remembers his mother making it when he was a kid. Memories can be faulty (and Tatsuya knows that all too well), but this isn’t that. There’s something about it, the spice proportions or the vegetables or the order in which he put everything together, maybe all three, but either way it’s definitely different, like a photograph desaturated and then re-colorized with some sort of advanced software.

“Looks good,” says Taiga, wrapping an arm around Tatsuya’s waist and kissing his cheek. “Sure you don’t need any help?”

“I’m sure,” says Tatsuya. “Thank you.”

“You’re tense,” says Taiga, bending his head to kiss Tatsuya’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” says Tatsuya, stirring the curry again (it still smells good, and he’s really getting hungry, but it’s still just a little off, enough to pinch at his senses, almost more conspicuous than if it were a completely different dish). “It’s not coming out the way my mom does it.”

“Is that…?”

Tatsuya takes a breath; he can feel his shoulders tensing up even more and he reminds himself that they’re trying to be more honest with each other and it goes both ways. (Truth be told, Taiga’s never had as much of a problem being honest anyway; the weight and effort falls more on Tatsuya and he knows it.) It’s better to let Taiga know exactly what his insecurities are than to let him imagine or guess.

“When we were kids, and you used to come over to my house, you always liked when my mom made curry. So I thought…I want to make it for you like that. Because I know you like it.”

Taiga squeezes his arm tighter around Tatsuya’s waist. “Tatsuya.”

“It’s dumb, right?”

“No, I get it,” says Taiga. “But you know, if it’s the same recipe—”

“It’s not,” says Tatsuya. “She wouldn’t tell me how she makes it.”

“Really?”

“Really,” says Tatsuya. “This is all from memory, things I remember watching her do and things I got her to tell me before kicking me out of the kitchen, and the internet.”

“Tatsuya,” says Taiga, again. “I’m—I.”

He stops; Tatsuya stirs the curry again, poking at a carrot with the spoon. It’s not near soft enough yet. A few seconds later, and Taiga picks up.

“Thank you. For doing all of this for me.” His voice is tight. “You know I—it doesn’t have to be an exact recreation to mean as much, or to taste as good. Or better.”

A sentence rises to the surface of Tatsuya’s mind, something about Taiga insulting his mother’s cooking with a backhanded statement like that, but it’s not the point and it’s not the time. Tatsuya twists his body to face Taiga’s, looking him in the face, and, oh.

“It was never about the exact way it tasted, anyway,” Taiga blurts out, like he can’t stop going now they’re on this subject. “I liked it because my mom used to make curry for my dad, and that was his favorite, and—I used to think, a while before we moved, when she made curry for dinner maybe it meant they were going to get back together or maybe they were going to try. It was so dumb, but—going over to your house, and your mom making curry for us, was like. It reminded me of that.”

His eyes are red and watery and Tatsuya embraces him, squeezing his chest and leaning his head on Taiga’s shoulder. Taiga’s head drops to kiss his neck; his arms are loose but move into a closed loop around Tatsuya’s waist. How could he not have known?

“Taiga,” Tatsuya says, and what can he say after that?

“I just—I used to wish, after I started learning how to cook, that she’d taught me how to make it, left a recipe somewhere. And maybe it would be a bad idea to cook it for my dad and bring up bad memories, but even just for myself.”

His voice is hoarse, cracking; he sniffs.

“It’s okay to cry, you know.”

“I know,” says Taiga, and he’s definitely wiping his eyes on Tatsuya’s shirt but it’s not like it’s not already stained from cooking (and it’s not like it matters either way).

The pan on the stove sizzles, annoyed at its lack of attention, and Tatsuya reaches out to stir as best he can while still holding Taiga. Taiga disentangles himself the rest of the way, resettling himself so he’s out of the way but holding on again, but the damage is already done.

“It’s a little burned,” says Tatsuya, scraping the spoon against the bottom of the pan again.

“That’s okay,” says Taiga. “It’ll still be good. And—we can make it again sometime?”

“Together,” says Tatsuya.

“Together,” Taiga echoes.

“And, if you want, we can try to recreate your mom’s recipe, too.”

“She always used potatoes,” says Taiga, but his voice is lighter, looser.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” says Tatsuya.

Taiga kisses the side of his neck again and hugs his waist tighter. Tatsuya lifts the spoon from the pan and holds it up to the level of Taiga’s head; Taiga licks it.

“It’s good. It’s really good, Tatsuya.”

Tatsuya smiles; he can feel the leftover tension in his muscles falling out. Like this, it’s too easy to relax against Taiga, to feel the warmth of his body, comfortable despite the hot stove just inches away. It’s almost done; he stirs with one hand while covering Taiga’s joined hands on his waist with the other. Taiga makes a pleased sort of sound, a little more than a hitch in his breath but distinct and clear all the same. The curry looks good; it smells good, too. It’s even more different from his mother’s recipe now, the smell of charred vegetables cutting through the spices, but Tatsuya’s not bothered.


End file.
